“Portrait of Young Woman,” Luke Fildes, 1900, WikiArt.

“What do you believe?” asked my suitor of
Marriage arranged, warrior-prince of Gaul
Tribes. He heard what was expected, no
Words heart-spoken My secret beliefs so
Written, Celtic girl, named Glenzy, of outer
Albion isles. Yes, I believe magic islands,
Isolated peaceful realms, free from wounding
Wars or disease. I believe in roaming sheep,
Fields of grain, farming families following
Ancient pagan ways. Sun is golden chariot
Rising every morn, ushering crop-growing
Warmth, day-long journey of sky master
And his radiant, galloping steeds.

Of clouds, sea-island scudding, ethereal
Boatmen sailing high, mariners like my
Tribe, they traverse lofty realms. Some
Would say life imagined, yet they are with
Me every day, glades and streams where
Goddess speaks aloud. In sunlit seclusion
Of great stones, I bare my body-soul, naked
I give myself to grassy earth, deep-clear
Water, tree groves, wind-waving branches
Bearing mistletoe. Warrior-prince would
You, your family reject my mystical ways,
Cherished beliefs revealed?

O! Such wealth and power you hold, hill-forts,
Army of ten-thousand, our marriage to unite
Disparate, oft warring clans, we are simple
People who prefer thatched-roof houses,
Farmland, field beasts to torcs, jewelry of
Handcrafted gold.  More secrets revealed on
Cold winter nights, ceremonies to rising sun
We hold, great flaming fires, sparks upward
Spiraling. pungent potions taken. At first, we
Dance round fires, then twirling like trees
Caught in howling winds. Rhythm of beating
Drums, our furs to feet falling, minds escstacy
Lost, naked bodies mingling, we honour
Solstice-rising sun of spring.

“Druids: Bringing in Mistletoe,” George Henry, 1890, WikiArt.

This morn, to dark forests I escape, footpaths
Disappearing into vine-entangled trees. How
Dark is dark, deep is deep? Beyond Imaginings!
Breath-still close, no familiar breeze, no gentle
Movement of ancient-trunked trees. Here
Within is welling spring, goddess of forests,
Protectress of Albion island Celts, I faithfully
Follow pagan beliefs, my prayers said aloud.
Offerings cast into water, small hand-carved
Sculptures of naked self, invisibility magic
Spells, hidden from Gaul warrior-prince,
Forbidden trespass upon my body or this
Place, no more secret beliefs concealed.

Poem originating in dreams, for more, see “The Celts” video:
Thanks for reading. 

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